


Liebestraum(Love Dream)

by DarkmoonSigel



Series: The Notes Played In Between [29]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chapter 4 written while drunk so yeah...., Chapter 7 is pocket Hannibal, Crack, Cute, DAMN IT HANNIBAL, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Funny, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pocket Will, Poor Will, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Will Figures It Out, Will is a sneaky little shit, kinda....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pocket Will story because of reasons. Will wakes up one morning to find out that he is now six inches tall.<br/>Crack.<br/>Not Beta Read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOULD YOU LIKE SOME CRACK LITTLE PERSON?! COME ON, ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOING IT. SHUT UP AND EAT IT. NOM NOM NOM.
> 
> Not Beta Read.  
> Liebestraum(Love Dream) is by Liszt, and I own nothing.

This was some complete and utter bullshit. Like his life wasn’t messed up and complicated enough. For some reason, some power or force in the universe decided to throw him yet another curve ball, cause extreme empathy didn’t make his existence difficult enough. It made Will Graham wonder what the hell he could have done to deserve it.

It must have been something he ate. That was all Will could think of in answer in this because he wasn‘t the adventurous sort that dabbled in the occult or even really religion. From living day to day, he had routines and structure, had to if he wanted to come off as normal. At the moment, they were kind of fucked up thanks to Jack and serial killers that kept coming out of the woodwork, but when Will could follow a routine, he could pass off as normal. To his knowledge though and basic understanding of food, it was still a mystery to how this could have happened. He had been eating some weird things at Doctor Lecter though…

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=14kisns)

On this particular morning, Will Graham had woken up to find that he was about six inches tall. He was damn lucky his dogs knew his scent or he might have ended up being a chew toy. A nose the size of your head was a frightening thing to encounter first thing in the morning. 

Who did you call for a condition(?) like this? Will had no idea what to do with himself or who to contact. Would anyone be able to hear his voice over the phone? Will supposed that he could text, but how do you explain this sort of thing to another person in a sane, believable manner? And even better question was, where the hell was his phone?

Facepalming, Will tried to remember where he had last seen it. The odds of him being able to actually get to it, even if he did recall, were slim though. The landline was probably his best bet, but it sat on his kitchen table which was currently a mountain of furniture and desert of flooring away from him. Will supposed he could try riding one of the dogs to save time, but even that was daunting. He had made the mistake of looking down while taking his morning piss off the side of the bed. 

Deciding to wait his new condition out, Will wondered how long he was going to be like this. If he didn’t change back, what was going to happen to him? Will supposed that was up to who found him. Even as antisocial as he was, someone at the FBI was going to start noticing that he wasn’t there to teach his classes. That or Jack would come looking for him to drag him to some god awful crime scene after Will didn‘t pick up his phone. Come to think of it, the emphath’s new size probably wouldn’t even phase him.

“I know you’re only six inches tall, Will, but people are dying.” Will did his best Jack impersonation. Will’s chuckling died down though when he realized that Jack could just carry him to scenes and make him look. Size wouldn’t technically have any effect on his abilities. If he didn’t change back any time soon, hiding for the rest of his life suddenly held a certain appeal to it. 

The front door opening kept Will from furthering his plans of a new life as a woodland creature. The mini profiler panicked, diving under his sheets which were like a cotton ocean to him. They also happened to be his only covering. Tiny and naked…..damn life loved to kick him when he was down. 

“Will? Are you home?” was asked in calm accented voice which could only belong to one Doctor Lecter. Thrilled that it wasn’t Jack, but mortified it was about the only person he could call ‘friend’, Will quietly wished for death as he heard the doctor repeat his name, his voice starting to fill with a mild concern. At least it wasn’t Alana, Will mused. Or Freddie Lounds. Will wouldn’t put it past her to try and sneak into his house. Will nearly had a panic attack at the very thought of being discovered by the tabloid journalist. It would be like throwing a blind mouse to a starving cat.

Sitting undercover, Will realized that Doctor Lecter just might be his best bet. He used to be a surgeon so he would have extensive knowledge about the human body and loads of medical training. The doctor turned therapist would have numerous contacts within the medical community. Will also knew that Lecter could keep secrets, and he had to face the fact that he desperately needed help and someone tall with opposable thumbs.

“I’m here.” Will sighed, moving out from under the sheets to stand on his bed. He resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands, not wanting to come off as completely pathetic. When he realized Lecter hadn’t heard him, the stoic man too busy studying his fishing lures of all things, Will started to jump up and down yelling, waving his arms.

That got the doctor’s attention, Lecter’s brow furrowing ever so slightly as he stared down at the phenomenon of Will. He crossed the room slowing to stand beside the bed, his sharp sanguine gaze never leaving off of the tiny profiler.

“Will?” Lecter sounded like he was testing out his own sanity.

“Yes. It’s me.” Will yelled. As Lecter came closer, kneeling down beside the bed for a better look at him, Will freshly remembered that he was naked. He resisted to urge to crouch down or do anything else as equally embarrassing, reminding himself that Lecter was a doctor and had seen naked men, probably in way better shape than himself, many times before. 

What Will didn’t realize was how scary it might be to have a normal sized human loom over him by simply existing in the normal manner. He certainly didn’t expect to be poked at, though Lecter did so gently or at least tried to. It still knocked Will’s breath out of him, toppling him over. 

“Hey!” Will shouted, kicking at the offending digit. He only ended up hurting his heel on a manicured nail. 

“My apologies, Will. I needed to prove to myself that all my faculties were intact. You appear to be experiencing some rather unusual…..syptoms.” Lecter said, his strange eyes flitting over Will’s body. He didn’t know why, but for some reason it was easier for Will to meet the other man‘s gaze like this. 

Will didn’t get to think about eye contact for long, the tiny man yelping in terror as he was carefully scooped up into a large hand. Clinging bodily to a finger and trying not it think about his junk pressed up to his therapist, Will glared at Lecter as he was brought up to the man’s eye level.

“Put me down!” Will demanded. He didn’t think that Lecter would drop him, but he didn’t want to tempt fate either. Plus it was a really long way down. 

“Please calm yourself. I can’t hear you well in that form.” Lecter explained, obviously taking efforts to keep his own voice low to not deafen or overwhelm Will. 

“Well, could you put me back on the bed and lay down…..” Will realized he had just asked his doctor to bed. “….or something.”

Hannibal took one look at all the dog hair covered surfaces, and Will’s sweat stained bedding, and shook his head.

“I feel exposed here. Very exposed.” Will told through gritting teeth, trying not to move or embarrass himself further. His front was warm from being in direct contact with the doctor’s skin but his ass and back were definitely getting kind of frosty. Lecter must have understood all the implications he was trying to convey, because Will soon found himself covered in a sheet. He realized that it was Lecter’s handkerchief, the bright yellow and burgundy paisley pattern all his unique style. 

“Wear this. It’s silk and should keep you warm enough until we can get you some proper apparel.” Lecter told him, cupping his hands together now to provide Will a larger surface to get dressed upon. Will didn’t know why the man just couldn’t set him down as he inadvertently rolled across the fleshy flooring of Lecter’s palms like pill bug for a moment. Wrapping the expensive material around his body like a toga, Will felt kind of bad about it, but figured Hannibal must a dozen just like it. Plus he would freeze without it, so paisley toga it was. 

“Is that better?” Lecter asked, his breathing shifting the material about Will like a breeze. 

“Yes, thank you.” Will nodded, trying to keep himself from blushing. This hadn’t been his finest morning for showing off his physique. 

“Good.” Lecter smiled, and Will realized that he could relax. Everything was going to be fine. There was nothing to worry about.

And then Docter Lecter put Will in his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Will yelled, trying to climb out of his prison of silk on silk, because of course Lecter’s suits would be lined with the slippery stuff. Try as he might, Will found that he couldn’t get any traction on the material though. To make matters worse, Hannibal was buttoning the inner pocket of his jacket, Will being kept in the safest place possible. The tiny profiler could feel and hear Lecter’s even heartbeat through the material. The bass of it was beginning to make him sleepy.

It was a strange sensation to be trapped in prison made entirely of material. Warm and dark and somewhat disconcerting not being able to gain a foothold, but very comfortable. In better circumstances, Will might have considered taking a nap. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere fast. 

“Doctor Lecter!” Will shouted, falling back over as Lecter started to walk. As far as Will could tell for the noise, the doctor was letting his dogs out, and leaving the house. 

“Hannibal?!” Will tried again to get the man’s attention. The sound of a car door opening and an engine starting up muffled out anything else he had to say. 

Will was getting a really bad feeling. A very bad feeling indeed.

OoOoO


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Pocket Will cause you'll wanted more of this, and momma loves her crack babies.  
> Not beta read.  
> Crack. You have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of this silliness. The next chapter will be from Hannibal's POV. Tee hee.

After being essentially kidnapped in one of most humiliating ways possible and with all of his questions and complaints ignored, Will found himself up to his neck in hot water…..literally. Sitting in a deep soup bowl filled with soapy water that was almost too hot to be comfortable, Will sulkily took a bath as Lecter sat in attendance nearby, sewing as he kept a watchful eye on him. Will told himself that he should have known that the good doctor was capable of designing and sewing miniature outfits on the fly.

“I’m not wearing that.” Will pouted, grateful for his bubble cover that gave him some sort of privacy. Lecter had insisted that he take a bath as soon as they arrived, citing that Will smelled sourly of sweat and dogs. Will hadn’t been in any real position to argue considering his new minuscule stature. That and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower. Insomnia and losing time made keeping track of the little things like personal hygiene difficult. 

“Will, don’t be rude. At least try it on before you decide to find fault with it.” Lecter said offhandly, more intent on his current project than paying any real attention Will’s grumbling.

“No.” Will grumped, splashing at the water because he could. Despite the perfect fit of the soup bowl, Will felt ridiculous taking a bath in Lecter’s dining room with man himself sitting only a few feet away from him.

“You don’t have any clothing, and at your size, you need to stay warm. You will be very susceptible to drafts and changes in temperature.” Lecter stated calmly, completing his work. The outfit was a little plain, especially by his standards, but it would suffice for right now. 

“No.” Will pouted, ducking his head underwater to wet down his hair. Lecter was still there when he came back up, looking stern.

“Please don’t make me dress you.” Lecter told him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Fine.” Will cringed. He held up his hands to show the doctor their pruning, though he doubted the man would be able to see it. “Am I clean enough for you? Can I come out now? Am I soup yet?”

That last question made Lecter chuckle for some reason though Will didn’t think it was really that funny. The doctor left him there to return soon enough from the kitchen with another soup bowl and a hand towel that look way too big for Will to dry himself off with.

“I’m not taking another bath.” Will said flatly. He knew that Lecter’s need for cleanliness ran a little on the OCD side, but two baths in a row was ridiculous. He wasn’t that dirty.

“It’s simply a rinse. If you let the soap dry on your skin, it will itch.” Lecter said, not giving Will a chance to argue about it as he scooped Will gently out of his bath and into the second bowl. 

“Hey! Stop picking me up!” Will shouted, floundering in his rinse water. It was a little too hot as well for his personal taste, but he wasn’t in it long. Ignoring Will’s yelps of displeasure, Lecter proceeded to fish him out again, and dry the tiny yelling man off with the hand towel. 

When kicking and squirming and general bitching didn’t work, Will went limp, hoping dead weight would convince Lecter to put him down, and quit drying him off like a newborn kitten. The problem with that was Will now weighed as much as said kitten so it worked out favorably for Lecter on whatever he decided to do with Will in hand. 

When he was deemed dry enough, Will was set down on the table. Lecter took the towel with him as he disposed of the impromptu tubs, so that Will’s only options left to him were nudity or his new clothing. Glaring at Lecter upon his return, Will dressed himself, though he had to admit that his new clothing wasn’t bad for being made on demand out of handkerchiefs. They were a simply garb of tunic style shirt and drawstring pants. The long shirt of white silk hit Will about mid thigh, its sleeves long and flowing. the blue silk drawstring pants hung onto his hips with the aid of a belt made from braided thread, the excess material pooling around his feet. All in all, Will had to admit it was pretty damn comfy. 

Feeling that he was being watched, Will looked up at Lecter who seemed to be waiting for an assessment. “Thank you.” Will said, suddenly feeling embarrassed and rather guilty. He was damn lucky he wasn’t in the news right now or in a lab being studied. 

“You are most welcome, though I have to admit, I do enjoy a challenge.” Lecter nodded, looking pleased with himself. Will refrained from rolling his eyes, reminding himself to act like a better houseguest even if he had been kind of kidnapped. Yeah, that was definitely something that still needed to be addressed.

“Can you tell me why I’m here now? Why you took me to your house?” Will asked as the doctor sat down again to lean in with his chin balanced on his folded hands. The gesture eerily reminded Will of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, of something dark, deadly, and quite mad looking for some distraction from boredom.

“You can’t stay at your house, living with all those dogs. You could be killed by accident. Or eaten.” Lecter practically purring the words with his accent, sending shivers down Will’s spine, and not in the good way. 

“I was doing just fine.” Will said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes, I can see that.” Lecter smiled without really doing so. Will wondered if he was the only one who noticed that. Easy to miss, it was a subtle expression, a quick brightness behind maroon eyes and the tilt of lips that never revealed teeth in mirth. 

“I can’t stay here. I’ll be fine on my own.” Will tried to convince the doctor of his capabilities as limited as they were.

“Will…..you are six inches tall. Forgive me, but I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere on your own for a while.” Lecter told him, the doctor not looking sorry at all. If anything, Will thought he looked…..pleased. “I must insist that you stay here with me while you are experiencing this condition.” 

“At least until we reverse this or find a cure.” Will interjected. Something about all this made Will think that Lecter meant permanently, which was ridiculous. No one sane would want that, right? 

“Of course.” Lecter soothed, the tone sounding well practiced and professional. “I am rather curious about how you got to be in this state. Do you have any ideas?”

“No clue. I just woke up like this.” Will offered up with a shrug. He wished that he had more to go on now that they were talking about something he wanted to discuss. 

“Have you done anything out of the ordinary of late? Gone anywhere new?“ Lecter questioned. “Met anyone of the older female persuasion dressed in antiquated middle eastern garb?

“If you’re asking me if I pissed of an old gypsy woman, no. No, I haven’t.” Will said, glowering up at the doctor who thought he was being clever.

“Have you eaten anything strange or out of the ordinary?” Lecter asked, used to people not appreciating his wit.

“I mostly eat here.” Will said in all honesty, unaware that the same question applied. “Otherwise, it’s just really bad coffee and whatever comes out of a vending machine.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered that I am your primary source of nutrition or worried about what would happen if I wasn’t.” Lecter said slowly, shaking his head at the too little care Will spent on himself. 

“Oh wait, I did eat those funny little chocolates yesterday while you were putting the last touches on that duck dish.” Will said, wincing as he admitting to it. They had been left out, and Will had helped himself to them. Quite a lot of them actually. 

“Duck Confit.” Lecter supplied the name out of habit, his brow furrowing in thought. “ Funny little chocolates? I didn’t serve anything with chocolate last night.”

“They were the ones in the fancy gold and brown packaging. You left them out so I thought it would be ok to have a few.” Will mumbled, making Lecter lean in to hear him until the doctor’s head practically rested on the table. It should have looked ridiculous, but Lecter somehow managed to pull it off as languidly graceful. “That’s why it struck me as kind of odd. You prefer to make your own sweets, not buy them.”

“I don’t remember disposing of such a box.” Lecter pointed out.

“Um……by a few, I meant all of them.” Will admitted, guiltily looked over and away so he didn’t have to meet Lecter’s eyes. Oh wow, look at that weird painting, the one with the swan doing some kinky shit to that woman. Why was that in the dining room? Will didn’t get it.

“I was about to serve dinner.” Lecter said, sounding slightly hurt and reproachful about it. 

“I know, but I was really hungry and I still ate everything.” Will blushed, feeling like he was being scolded. “I’m sorry?”

“I would be cross with you, but you inadvertently did me a great favor by being so greedy.” Lecter leaned back in his chair to regard Will with a thoughtful look, no longer miffed about the breach in polite dinner conduct.

“How so?” Will felt far more relief than he wanted to admit. He also didn’t like the sound of that. 

“I believe those chocolates were from an obsessive patient of mine. I found them in my satchel when I came home after one of his session. He must have slipped them in there because he knew I would decline any sort of gift from a patient. He was probably counting on me to eat them anyway in a moment of weakness.” Lecter said. Will noticed the doctor wore disgust mingled with anger…no…rage as well as any three piece suit. It was tailored, contained, and fit him far too well. 

“Oh….” Will said as he watched Lecter carefully. He knew there was a mask in place there. Everyone wore one in some sort of way, shape or form. Will was just used to being able to peak under them without any difficultly or problem. Doctor Lecter was the exception to this. As peaceful as it was sometimes, Will also found it sort of frightening that he couldn‘t get a read on the man. “Well that’s a good thing then. It means that he’ll have a cure.”

“Not necessarily. For all we know, this patient had every intention of keeping me tiny and helpless indefinitely for his own personal amusement and pleasure.” Lecter composed himself, turning his full focus back upon Will much to his chagrin. He equated it to being lost out in the desert and suddenly having the sun taking a deep personal interest in the way sweat dripped off of your body.

“It has to be a joke or something. At the very least, he can tell you how he did it.” Will said weakly. Lecter sat in his dining room chair like it were a throne, regarding Will with an extremely complex look, one the empathic profiler turned ’tiny tim’ couldn’t even begin to decipher. If Will could have, he would have run and hid. 

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, Will. We will have to see what happens.”

OoOoO  
TBC?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments take a long soak in the soup bowl alongside Will who glares at them. Your kudos are made to sew a new wardrobe for Will by Hannibal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More crack about PocketWill. This time it is from Hannibal's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey go check out sku7314977. They just wrote an Alpha/Omega(no m-preg) story called 'Sick Day' and it needs some love cause porn. Do you really need another reason? You know you don't, you cute little perverts you.

The closest emotion that Hannibal would equate to his current state of mind was giddy. In a fantastic turn of events, Will was at his complete and utter mercy. That fateful morning, it had been purely whim on his part to drive over to Wolf Trap after Will had failed to pick up his phone to accept a dinner invitation for later on in the week. Hannibal had found a particularly nice cut of meat in a diver who’d had the misfortune of being rude to the wrong person. Hannibal hadn’t seen such fluffy lungs in a long while and wanted Will to partake in them.

To his surprise, Hannibal had found Will in his current state, so tiny and naked on his bed. 

To his elation, he learned that he was the only one who knew about it….

…and he was going to keep it that way.

After carefully sequestering Will away into his inner coat pocket, Hannibal departed with his prize, leaving the door open to allow the dogs in and out. All the elements of misdirection were left out in the open to hint at Will’s undetermined fate. All he had to do was wait for a worried phone call from Jack, Alana, or both, one where he would feign worry and concern for Will and his degrading mental state. Someone would be sent out to Will’s little house in the middle of nowhere to check in on him. They would find his front door left ajar, his dogs wandering about, and his car still left in the driveway. There would be speculation, and a search of the woods and fields around his house, but in the end, they would find nothing about what could have happened to Will Graham. There would be many theories about it though, a lot of coming from Hannibal’s own mouth to cause further confusion. He supposed that Freddie Lounds could be quite useful in this farce as well, Hannibal making a mental note to give her a call.

It was all very exciting. Hannibal had never had a pet before. 

OoOoO

“Um…Hello Doctor Lecter….H-how are you...um...feeling today?”

Hannibal remained looking very unimpressed as Franklin stammered out his greeting. The pudgy man had looked quite surprised when Hannibal opened his office door to let him in. He seemed disappointed enough that Hannibal considering gutting Franklin right then and there, but remembered that he particularly liked that rug in the waiting room. It really tied the color theme together, and he would be hard pressed to find one just like it again any time soon considering he had eaten its creator. 

Leaning forward much like a crouching panther or a hawk ready to strike, Hannibal fixed an intense look upon Franklin, one that made the man break out into a cold sweat and noticeably pale. 

“You are going to tell me everything you did to those chocolates.” Hannibal told him, his tone promising very grave things if Franklin wasn’t forthcoming about it in a timely manner. 

“What chocolate?” Franklin decided to play dumb which in Hannibal’s opinion wasn’t much of a stretch. He wasn’t in the mood for it today though.

“Franklin…” His accent made the name a growl.

“Yes, Doctor Lecter?” Franklin quivered. The scent of arousal mixed with fear made Hannibal feel nauseous, wishing for once that his nose wasn’t so sensitive. 

“If you don’t tell me what you did I am going to give you a referral.” Hannibal said bluntly, laying down the worst threat possible he could think of that didn’t involve organ removal. 

“No! Not a referral! I’ve already had nine!” Franklin wailed, his bottom lip trembling at the horror of it. He had only wanted a tiny Hannibal to take care of and cuddle…….and perhaps dress up. Buying all those doll clothes may have been a premature move on his part.

“Then I believe it would be in your best interest to start talking.” Hannibal said as he leaned back in his chair, the picture of control and menacing calm. 

“I may have….kinda…sorta…injected a potion into the chocolates.” Franklin fumbled his answer, Hannibal arching a brow at him. He was interested despite himself. More a man of science, he hadn’t expected that sort of answer.

“A potion? What kind of potion?” Until yesterday, Hannibal could have said without a doubt in his mind that he did not believe in magic. That was until he found a six inch Will who’d had to jump up and down on his bed to get his attention, all while completely naked. It was almost enough to make Hannibal believe in a higher power.

“The magical kind. It was super expensive….” Franklin said like the cost offset the fact he had originally intended the potion for Hannibal. 

“Is there an antidote or will the effects eventually wear off on their own?” Hannibal managed to say in a calm voice as he inwardly seethed at the thought of being in Will’s place, the indignity of it all. Hannibal made himself relax with the remembrance of Will curled up on his pillow where he had left him to meet Franklin. 

In his smaller form, Will didn’t seem to be suffering from the symptoms of encephalitis anymore. It had been one of the reasons for his bath, among others that included Hannibal seeing him naked again. Hannibal couldn’t smell the disease on him or in the bath water before he disposed of it in the kitchen. Will did seem to grow tired more frequently though, falling asleep in an instant. Hannibal had left the tiny empath slumbering on his pillow, his own pillow and covering a cashmere scarf that Will nestled down in almost instinctually, reminding Hannibal of a hamster or baby squirrel. 

“An antidote? Why? Did you eat any of the chocolate? When did you…” Franklin looked way too excited for his own good or continued breathing.

“No. I happen to be very careful what I put into my body. I am merely curious to know how you would have proceeded if I had eaten the chocolate.” Hannibal said, some miracle keeping the evil out of his voice, though it sounded cold even to him. 

“But someone had to have eaten them or else you wouldn’t be asking…” Franklin pointed out, having an astonishing moment of insight during his fail at self preservation. “They’re going to be stuck like that.”

“It is a distinct possibility.” Hannibal allowed. He wasn’t about to give up any more details though. The permanency of Will‘s new stature was making him practically gleeful though. Franklin just may have moved himself off of Hannibal‘s shit list, for now at least. “It is a private matter, one that you should take responsibility for.”

“Well, I have it.” Franklin said, producing a small vial of vivid yellow liquid from his pocket. “Right here.”

Hannibal’s sanguine eyes tracked that vial like a moth to flame. “Is there any more of it?” he asked, ideas and plans already forming in his head.

“No. That’s it. Like I said, it was super expensive.” Franklin pouted, a fool and his money very much parted.

“I want you to destroy everything you have about the potion, and give me the antidote.” Hannibal told him, holding out his hand. “I will know if you don’t.”

“What?!” Franklin whined, clutching the vial to his chest.

“Referral.” Hannibal growled, the threat sitting low, deep, and certain in his throat.

“Nooooo.” Franklin moaned, relinquishing the vial to Hannibal who slipped it into his pocket for very safe keeping. 

Very safe keeping indeed.

OoOoO  
TBC?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments dress Hannibal up in Barbie dresses(you are so fucking eaten when he returns to normal). Your kudos cuddle with Will and brush his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GET IN THE VAN LOSER! WE'RE READING CRACK TODAY!  
> Chapter is short and sweet, just like Will.   
> Not beta read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing. I'm sitting in my underwear, drinking peach whiskey, posting crack, and listening to Louden Swain. Too much information? Maybe. Living the dream? Oh yeshhhhhhhhhhh...

Surrounded by softness, Will woke up warm, feeling oddly safe for once. Come to think of it as he lay there floating in waves of half consciousness and cashmere, Will realized that he hadn’t had any nightmares since the change. The headaches and insomnia that had plagued him recently were gone as well. Which was a blessing because at the moment Will was pretty damn sure his daily self medication amount of aspirin would kill him. He doubted that Hannibal would be willing to give him anything as well while he remained at the stunning height of six inches. 

Despite being able to fit in the palm of a person’s hand, Will felt healthier than he had in a long while, even before Jack had darkened his classroom door with a plea of borrowing him. Curling up tighter in the cashmere scarf that was now his bed, Will snorted at the thought. 

Someone should really tell Jack to look up the word ‘borrow’. To his knowledge, the concept of returning the item to its original owner was an expected part of it. Returning it unscathed was another, and was generally considered polite. Sometimes Will thought it was lucky that Jack had never met the Chesapeake Ripper in person. Odds were that the serial killer they were hunting would consider him rude and Will knew all too well what happened next. 

As pleasant as it was to stay like this, buried underneath soft mounds of plush fabric like a small hibernating woodland creature, Will felt he needed to pee. Sighing at himself and bodily functions in general, Will made himself wake up properly and start climbing out of his bed. The scarf he was sleeping in belonged to the man who was in the bed with him. 

Doctor Hannibal Lecter slept in a heavy four poster bed of solid oak, on top of cobalt blue sheets made of the finest Egyptian cotton. Obvious patient/doctor/breach of etiquette jokes aside, Will took a moment to appreciate that sight. For some reason, he got the feeling it was rarely seen by others. Even in his sleep, the man exerted such control, keeping to his side of the bed so utterly still in his repose. If their situations were reversed, Will knew that he would have to give Hannibal the bed and go sleep on the couch for safety’s sake. Getting squished to death by a sleep heavy limb lacked appeal. 

Even now, it was a risky business to approach as Will slid down the slope of the pillow his makeshift bed had been placed on top of. He could have shouted at Hannibal to wake him up. The man’s senses, all of them and not just his nose, were obscenely acute, which was probably a good thing considering how fragile Will was in his current state. Never the less, Will couldn’t seem to escape temptation as he climbed up the side of Hannibal’s pillow, pulling himself up and over the edge of it. Being this close to other human’s face at this size should have been terrifying as Will studied his odd caretaker up close and personal, but all Will could feel was fascination as he watched the man take shallow, even breaths. 

It was a visage that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did, its elements of composition slightly off. It made for an interesting face though with severe cheekbones, faded scars set in tan skin, and shy eyebrows that hid under brow. Silvery ashen hair that was usually coifed was no longer neat, the locks looking slept in and loose so that they hung in Hannibal‘s face, gentling the subtle menace of it. It looked soft, strands of Hannibal’s hair glittering silver and gold in the weak morning light.

To Will’s immediate dismay, it was as soft as it appeared to be. Wanting to fulfill that unspoken wish, his body seemed to move on its own as Will wrapped his arms around a longer lock of Hannibal’s hair that made up his fringe. It was warm from his body heat, silken to the touch, and fragrant from all the expensive products Hannibal preferred to use. Inhaling deeply, Will buried his face in it which turned out to be his undoing as he leaned forward a little too much and lost his footing. 

Sliding down the steep indentation in the pillow made by Hannibal’s head, Will clung to the lock of hair in the vain hope that it would slow him down. All it really succeeded in doing was angle Will’s tumble so that he landed in the middle of Hannibal’s face with his legs straddling the bridge of the man’s nose. 

“Ow.” Will mumbled as he faceplanted against Hannibal’s forehead, right between the eyes.

“Good morning. Was there something you needed, Will?” made Will blush from what felt like tip of head to toe of foot. Of course Hannibal would be awake after that, speaking low to save Will’s tiny yet close ears but sounding very aware, like he had been up for a while now with adequate amounts of caffeine in his system. 

All the angles and surfaces working against him, Will struggled to sit up and not kick Hannibal in the eye, both of which were open and regarding Will though heavy lids. It was sort of calming to see that Hannibal could be sleepy even if he did sound all put together. He was somehow more human that way. 

“Bathroom….please.” Will gritted out, embarrassed in equal parts for where he was and having to ask for the help. The conversation that he’d had with Hannibal about how he was going to use the facilities was now in his top ten most embarrassing exchanges. Hannibal had insisted he didn’t mind cleaning up after Will, having handled human excrement and worse before when he was interning to be a doctor. Will had maturely responded to that by hiding under a heavy bookshelf that Hannibal wouldn’t be able to move all on his own, and refusing to come out until something other than a tiny chamber pot or litter box was suggested.

Will reflected that it was a good thing that Hannibal didn‘t live with anyone because it would have looked odd to have seen the immaculate psychiatrist addressing his bookshelf in a patient manner, trying to reason with it. They had argued and negotiated what needed to be done and what would be allowed. Will had wanted to left on his own, citing that he could balance on the edge of the rim to do his business, until Hannibal pointed out that would be a disgusting way to drown if he were to fall in. That and if he didn’t drown, did Will really want Hannibal to fish him out of the toilet water? Will had answered that by pointing out all the dust bunnies keeping him company underneath the bookshelf, even going so far as to free a few from their hiding place. 

In the end, Hannibal had resolved the issue by taking off the tank lid to cut a small circular hole in the top of it with a power tool he had in his well stocked, organized basement, the well lit space so clean looking it was practically sterile. Impressed despite himself, Will knew that Hannibal was very hands on, but had never thought that the man would own such a vast array of saws. 

Afterward, Will had promptly gotten another bath, but try as he might, Hannibal couldn’t wash off the smug look on Will’s face. Especially when Hannibal spent the next few hours cleaning under all his furniture. 

It was a concession, but one where Will had to ask to be taken to the bathroom. The act of it still made him blush. He was just glad that Hannibal so highly valued politeness and gave him some privacy in that area. Some mysteries in life and relationships were worth keeping. 

Ah, yes. Of course.” Hannibal said like it was the most normal thing in the world to be woken up by a tiny person plastered to his face. 

And so their day began. 

OoOoO  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments play dress up with Hannibal's hair while he is trying to sleep. Your kudos look for more dust bunnies with Will.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Pocket Will and Hannibal do on a daily basis.  
> Not Beta Read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to look at all the furniture Hannibal is considering, you can find it all on Superior Dollhouse Miniatures. Their selection is fucking amazing.

“What the hell do you mean I’m missing and presumed dead!?”

To say former profiler for the FBI and empath Will Graham was not pleased at the moment with his psychiatrist Doctor Hannibal Lecter would be a bit of an understatement. Unfortunately for Will, there was very little, literally and figuratively, that he could do about it. The reason being was that he was currently the exact height of six inches and presently riding around in Hannibal’s pocket. The inner one of a powder blue plaid suit jacket to be exact, Will’s head and shoulders peaking out of it to glare up at Hannibal who looked passively back at him.

OoOoO

Since the change, Will seemed to be spending a lot of time in one pocket or another during the day. All of Hannibal’s coats had a variety of the pockets, though Hannibal’s preference for stashing Will was in the hidden inner breast. He cited that it was the safest place for Will if someone happened to run into him, and if Will needed to get his attention, he could do so discreetly. 

At night, Will slept in mounds of cashmere, basically having stolen a fine blue scarf of Hannibal’s for his bed. Of course, Hannibal offered to buy him something that was more appropriate and in his size, but Will stubbornly refused, the thought of sleeping in a doll‘s bed creeping him out. So night after night Will’s choice of bedding was placed on top of a pillow on what was ridiculously deemed his side of the bed. 

For the most part, it was working out pretty well, this odd arrangement, surprisingly so. 

Will would wake up in the morning, usually to find Hannibal finishing up his daily exercise routine. His therapist turned caregiver worked out a lot for a guy with a cushy job, Hannibal easily putting in two to three hours a day. It explained why he was up so early in the morning when Will used to turn up at odd hours, the insomnia prone profiler smelling sour from fear than exercise. 

The downside was that when Hannibal noticed Will was up, he would make the tiny man go through a program as well, the pair doing a Pilates, yoga combination of stretching and cooling down together. 

Which inevitable ended up with a bath for them both. Will refused to take another dip in a soup bowl for reasons so Hannibal had taken in the habit of them bathing together, Will boiling in his own skin the first time it had happened. If they took a bath, Will would swim around until he got tired, climbing up Hannibal’s graying chest hair like furry netting to his shoulder when he was done. Showers were taken in a similar manner with Will standing on Hannibal’s shoulder, holding on to his ear or a wet lock of hair. 

Getting dressed for the day was an event, at least in Will’s opinion. Upon first meeting, he’d had a suspicion that Hannibal was a clothes horse, but living with the good doctor only confirmed it. Will made a mental note never to wander into Hannibal’s closet for any reason. The odds of him getting out alive were not in his favor, considering Hannibal’s closet space could have been rented out for rooms. Rainbow ocean of plaid aside, Will’s newest trial was getting clad himself, or more accurately, deciding what he’d let Hannibal dress him up in. Hannibal was just as serious about Will’s clothing as he was his own, to a disturbing degree. 

Through his social circles and connections, Hannibal had been able to get in contact with a woman who knitted teeny tiny clothing for movies such as Coraline and other stop motion productions. Grateful that he had done so, Will was touched by the gesture, giving him the chance to wear normal looking clothing, but at the same time, he was put off by the sheer amount of clothing Hannibal got for him. He didn’t even have this kind of selection when he was normal size. Bless his heart, Hannibal did try to put in him a suit, but Will steadfastly refused, threatening to draw on Hannibal’s silk ties with ink if he made him. 

Breakfast was an elaborate affair Hannibal took his time with, the good doctor never scheduling any kind of business before 10 am. It gave the talented chef ample time to create their meals. Will teased the man that he lounged around in the morning over coffee. Hannibal would correct him, telling Will it was called enjoyment. 

Lunch for later would be made at the same time, Hannibal’s ridiculously expensive Tupperware used more often than Will had previously thought. The doctor hadn’t been kidding when he said he was very careful what he put into his body. Will would have never marked Hannibal as a humble brown bagger, if one could call Kinetic Go Green Glasslock Food Storage Containers humble. Will hadn’t believed Hannibal at first when he told him how much they cost. 

Meals were always served in the dining room though Will had told Hannibal not to do anything special on his account of being there. Depressingly, Hannibal had informed Will that he always dined formerly in the proper setting, it was only the seating that changed for him. No eating over the kitchen sink for Hannibal, though the image of it made Will chuckle. 

Will had his own little table and chair to scale made of actual mahogany to sit in beside Hannibal on top of the table, properly arranged of course with its own flatware, dishware, and glassware. Nothing was made of plastic or Barbie pink. Will found it vaguely disturbing that Hannibal had been able to find everything in his size and made from all the proper materials. His silverware were metal, his plates hand painted bone china, and his tiny goblet blown glass. He didn’t want know how much it had all cost or where Hannibal had been able to discover this treasure trove of tiny furniture. Will had a bad feeling if he showed any interest other than practical applications that Hannibal would think nothing of buying a dollhouse, at least a modern version of one. Empathy working just fine even while fun-sized, Will could tell that the man was practically dying to have any reason to, just so that he could decorate it. Not wanting to live in a museum piece, Will thanked him for his efforts but kept it simple. Getting dressed in morning was a hassle enough. 

 

Hannibal would finish getting ready for the day, one of his last tasks before leaving the house was to put Will gently in his pocket over his heart, wrapped up in handkerchief for comfortable padding. It also served as something Hannibal could produce if anyone caught him looking or talking at his coat for too long. 

Though he would never admit it aloud, Will found it a soothing arrangement, usually falling asleep in the warm dark within the first few minutes. Whether due to his new size or not, Will slept more now than ever before. It was almost like his body was trying to make up for all the nights it had kept him awake, staring at the ceiling, or wandering streets with only the ravenstag and Winston for company. 

For Hannibal, it was becoming a common occurrence to peek into his pocket to see Will curled up asleep in there. He found the sight of calming for reasons that seemed to allude him, the feeling associated with it unfamiliar but pleasant. Hannibal planned on exploring it more.

OoOoO

Pacing on top of the desk, the profiler had woken up in time to join Hannibal for lunch in his office. He was not taking the news of his supposed demise very well. 

“I had to come up with something, a cover story of a sort while you continue to be afflicted with your condition.’ Hannibal said, delicately eating his antipasti of Buffalo mozzarella, Heirloom tomatoes, fleshy olives, and homemade barista cold cuts. The unfortunate woman had decided to make fun of his name, writing ’imahole’ on the side of his cup after the doctor had insisted upon his cappuccino being made properly with whole milk instead of vile 2%.

“So you killed me?!” Will said incredulously, making Hannibal almost choke. 

“Hardly.” Hannibal managed out, clearing his throat. “You are presumed dead, not confirmed. Should reality reassert itself, you can simply claim amnesia with my help, and return to your life.”

“What about my dogs?” Will sighed, the fight going out of him. Like consciousness, he really couldn’t hold on long to his anger now either. 

“They are being taken care of by Alana and Beverly, who apparently persuaded Zeller and Price to help. Or threatened depending on who is telling the story.” Hannibal told him, polishing off his barista with a glass of lemon mineral water. Will had been happy eating part of an olive and a spec of tomato. 

“And my house?” Will asked. It wasn’t much but it was his, damn it.

“Is being cared for by Jack himself, who is exhibiting quite a lot of shame and remorse about your disappearance. Alana is helping to drive this point home. She blames Jack, and had been quite vivid about voicing her opinion on the matter.” Hannibal said, feeling pleased about his protégé’s actions. He had helped fan the flame of Alana’s temper in the matter, but her actions were all her own. 

“Oh…..That’s good? I guess…..I’m glad she’s cares.” Will said, looking torn about how he should feel about that. He climbed up on some books to distract himself from dwelling on things, sitting on the edge of them to let his feet dangle.

“Quite.” Hannibal said somewhat snippily, a little bit of love for Alana dying. The amount of jealousy he was feeling was unexpected, Hannibal reminding himself that he was the only person that Will would see ever again if he had his way. He could voice lies easily with that knowledge in mind. “Your old life will keep for now so please calm down.”

“What do I do until then?” Will asked plaintively. It wasn’t like he could go fishing, or make his lures, or do anything else he used to do when he had spare time. 

Smiling, Hannibal leaned in to look at his tiny Will, making a mental note to buy him a chair or couch to sit in. A chaise made of dark walnut and purple satin had definitely caught his eye. He had also found a near perfect replica of the chairs he had in his office in Will’s size. He’d had no idea that doll furniture could come in such a huge variety and style, and be so well made. They were like tiny works of craft and skill, and Hannibal loved his unique art.

Hannibal knew he would have to slowly work Will up to a dollhouse, but until then he could arrange little sporadic settings of furniture around his office and home for Will to use. The items were beautifully crafted so a casual observer would really think nothing of it, especially while in the company of all his other eclectic decorations. If anyone asked, Hannibal could cite some physiological garbage about the parallels between miniaturization and mental disorders, and reflecting that concept in an artful manner. 

“I’m sure I can find something to distract you.” Hannibal promised, already having something planned well in mind.

OoOoO

“When you said ‘distract’, I thought you would suggest a hobby or some recommended reading, not the opera.”

Will was currently sitting in an opera box, or well more accurately, sitting on top of Hannibal’s folded hands while the doctor sat in a private opera box. Will could hear the performance just fine, but couldn’t risk being seen on Hannibal’s shoulder by a nosy pair of opera glasses turned in their direction. The privacy of the space allowed them to talk though during the intermission. Hannibal had only done enough socializing to be seen and refresh his glass of wine. 

“The opera is more than just a mere distraction. It’s culture.” Hannibal told him, looking far too pleased with himself.

“You just wanted to see me in a suit.” Will accused, looking down at his very formal attire. Trust Hannibal to find and invest in a tux with all the accessories. Will felt like a tiny penguin.

“Perhaps, but one must dress accordingly to social functions. Who am I to challenge that?” Hannibal smirked, gently repositioning Will to the palm of his hand so that he could imbibe in his wine.

“A sneaky bastard.” Will said, going with the flow of Hannibal’s movements. With empathy and growing trust, Will was getting better about letting Hannibal bodily handle him. 

“Language, Will.” Hannibal tutted, liking how Will looked cradled in his fingers even if he was being a petulant little shit.

“Why are your virgin ears burning?” Will grumbled as he was sat back up on top of Hannibal’s folded hands. 

“You’re being childish.” Hannibal pointed out.

“I know what you are but what am I.” Will whined, doing his best impression of a toddler. 

Ignoring Will, Hannibal turned his attention back to the performance which was beginning again with vigor. For all his complaints, Will was an attentive member of the audience, unseen yet quiet and focused on what he was listening to. 

At the crescendo of a soprano’s aria, Will was snapped out of his trance by something large and wet landing on his head, drenching his hair. Worried more about his suit than his hairstyle, Will looked up to find the source of his discontent. He ended up staring though, the rainmaker Hannibal himself whose sanguine eyes were glossy to the point of overflow. The man was so involved with the sung Italian that he didn’t even notice he was shedding tears when he closed his eyes.

Risking discovery, Will climbed up Hannibal’s suit to stand on the man’s shoulder. Holding onto Hannibal’s ear, Will reached over to pat the doctor’s cheeks, making Hannibal glance over at him in his peripheral.

“My apologies, Will.” Hannibal murmured, reaching up carefully as to not dislodge Will from his shoulder, his fingers making a silken sound brushing his tears away.

“Happens to the best of us.” Will said softly considering he was standing right beside Hannibal’s ear. Wanting to give his friend some privacy, he moved so that he was hidden in locks of silvering ashen hair, and shielded further from view by the shell of Hannibal’s ear. No one noticed, not even Hannibal, when Will kissed the curved back of it.

OoOoO  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments sneak kisses from Hannibal without his notice. Your kudos get drunk at the opera and fall out of the box.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pocket Will figures it out. Poor tiny Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story was getting too fluffy......I blame Hannibal....  
> But on the plus side, someone requested porn for this. I kinda came up with something....kinda of....I'll put it up eventually...

It wasn’t anything in particular that clued him in. In retrospect, Will realized it had only been a matter of time before his frustrated subconscious gave a swift kick to his frontal lobe. Hints in the form of waking dream and ravenstag weren’t working so his empathy decided to try its hand at epiphany.

Hannibal had been out late last night, deciding to leave Will home for once which was a rare thing. The two had been pretty much inseparable since Will’s mishap with cursed chocolates doused with a potion straight out of Alice in Wonderland. The 6 inch profiler was getting pretty used to absorbing culture from his place inside Hannibal’s coat. From time to time though, Hannibal would make sure Will was comfortably situated in the folds of cashmere that served as his bed from atop one of Hannibal’s pillows, and would leave him to his own devices which mostly involved sleeping to return in the early hours of the morning. 

When Will asked where Hannibal had gone especially that late at night, he was told by Hannibal that the good doctor had kept an appointment with someone who needed his attention. It was an odd answer with very little explanation to it, but Will reasoned out that Hannibal didn’t owe him anything, especially if he had an odder patient than himself or even a lover. 

Will tried not to think about that last part. It stirred up something painful in his chest and gut, an idea he didn’t want to think about at length. It hadn’t been ideal for him to dwell on when he was full sized. It was even more unlikely to see fruition now that he could fit in the man’s pocket. In that kind of context, six inches as a description didn’t hold much allure to anything it was applied to. 

It was one of those rare morning where Will was up before Hannibal, the mini sliding down the side of his claimed pillow like a strange hill of silk. Hannibal was dead to the world, he was so deep in sleep. The normally even stoic while in slumber doctor was scrawled out across his mattress on his belly like a beached starfish. Whatever he had done last night had taken its toll, Hannibal’s body covered in random bruises and the occasional cut, though most were on his forearms.

Defensive wounds, Will’s brain prompted gently to be ignored. Hannibal hadn’t bothered with his night clothing, at least the top portion of it so Will was enjoying an unobstructed view of Hannibal’s lithe upper torso and muscular arms. They bathed together so Will saw Hannibal naked often enough, but now Will could greedily stare to his heart’s content without feeling too much embarrassment or breaching proper bathroom etiquette. 

In slumber, Hannibal’s face was left relaxed and unguarded as well, Will finally able to meet maroon eyes that were closed at the moment. He liked how Hannibal’s sandy bangs fell forward, softening the planes his sharp face a bit. When the light struck it just right, it could have the tendency to remind Will of a skull.

“That’s because he is death.” was written in other people’s blood across a mirror in his mind. This time Will couldn’t ignore it, that whispering in the back of his head like strange mist that was creeping up out of the fertile ground of his imagination.

“He’s a medical doctor…..psychopaths are attracted to surgical fields….they offer power…..he’s exotic somehow….I was so wrong…“ whispered poor Miriam Lass, the very dead trainee and one of the Ripper ‘s unofficial victims. The lost pawn Jack had before he got himself a new one, before he’d hijacked Will‘s imagination and made him another casualty in his own personal war against the Ripper.

“I killed someone…..I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts…Killing must feel good to God too……He does it all the time and are we not created in his image?” the ravenstag reiterated solemnly in Hannibal’s voice, making Will’s mind reel as the animal resolved itself into a more human form, a very familiar one. It was an wicked thing made of shadow and moving ink that was tipped with death from antlered head to taloned toe. It was made all the more stranger by the three piece suit it wore, like a very well made person suit or human veil. He looked normal, but no one knew what Hannibal actually was. No one except for Will Graham who crumpled into a tiny pile of misery from the weight of such terrible knowledge. 

At this point, he should be running, but Will knew there was nowhere for him to go. At his current diminished size, Hannibal’s four poster bed could have been a mountainous plateau island, the edge of the mattress a veritable cliff, and the killer’s mansion sized house another country entirely. Folding in on himself physically and mentally, Will lost what little hope he allowed himself to experience in Hannibal‘s presence, and gave himself over to misery and abandonment. He had never realized that having expectations would hurt so much once he’d lost them. 

“Why are you crying, Will?” were the soft words spoken more gently than they ever should be by any sadist. His face tear stained and not bothering clean it off, Will looked up from his folded arms to find Hannibal studying him sleepily through his half lidded maroon eyes, the color of dying blood. 

“Are you going to eat me?” Will said in a surprising clear voice and felt proud of himself for it, how steady it was. That was enough to wake Hannibal up, the Chesapeake Ripper leaning up on his forearms to look down at Will. The micro sized man resisted the urge to curl up into a tiny ball.

“Oh, Will.” Hannibal sighed out, sounding entirely too pleased by this turn of events. Like Will had just done a trick he had been trying to teach him for a while now. “You finally figured it out, and all on your own. I had almost given up.”

Nodding jerkily, Will rested his head back on his knees, cushioned by his folded arms. He tried not to think about how small and pathetic he looked like this, probably reminding Hannibal of some sad little appetizer he had forgotten to garnish. Will hoped Hannibal would at least kill him quickly. He prayed that he would be afforded that much at least, earned that little mercy from his keeper.

Instantly hating himself for it, Will squeaked when he was gathered up in a killer’s hands, the profiler curling up in fetal position, certain that his end was near. Begging wouldn’t work, though Will was sure that many had tried before. He decided to rise above and not bother. Hannibal would probably respect him more for that. Will knew intimately that one couldn’t reason or bargain with Hannibal’s kind of killer. 

A nose softly nuzzled the entirety of Will’s back, the man trembling as he was scented by the inhale and exhale of breathing that made his nightwear flutter like it was caught up in a storm wind. Chilled by Hannibal smelling him, Will shivered, curling up tighter as he hid his face in his hands. He wonder if Hannibal was even going to bother cooking him, or would just eat him raw.

“Will, calm yourself. I’m not going to eat you. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack though if you don’t calm down.” Hannibal said softly, pressing the bridge of his nose to the line of Will’s back so that he could feel the man tremble. He really couldn‘t let Will go and do something as stupid as dying right now, not when the game was turning into something new and marvelous. “I can smell your fear, feel your pulse through my palm.”

Hearing the words like they were spoken through a tunnel, Will realized belated that Hannibal was right. He was on the verge of a major panic attack, his limbs already beginning to seize up from it and his breathing too shallow and fast to maintain consciousness much longer. The tip of a finger rubbing circles in his back brought Will back to himself a bit.

“I need you to focus on my voice, dear Will, and breathe with me.” Hannibal soothed. His terrible doctor counted out loud up to eleven for inhalation and again up to eight for exhalation, repeating the sequence until Will was obediently following it. Whether he wanted to or not, Will found himself calming down, and tried not to think about how a serial killer was talking him through an episode.

Recovery left him exhausted, Will splayed out across the fleshy surfaces of Hannibal’s palms, his head and shoulders supported by a surgeon’s steady hands. Will found that he could meet Hannibal’s eyes easily now, that there were no secrets left there to wound him. 

“Did you do this to me? Make me like this?” Will asked when he found that he could. His own voice sounded almost foreign to him.

“No. I can’t say that I did though I have been enjoying the result immensely.” Hannibal smiled, pleased that Will was beginning to figure it out.

“Is there a cure?” Will made himself ask.

“Does it matter?” Hannibal rumbled, pressing his lips to Will’s heaving sides to feel moisture from the man’s sweat sodden clothing upon them like some sort of strange kiss. The salt of fear, loss, and melancholy made his lips tingle, tasting far better than it should. Will had proven himself to be too much of a delight to even consider killing now. 

“I’ll presume that’s your version of ’yes’.” Will closed his eyes, feeling tired beyond belief, everything about him worn thin. He couldn‘t even begin to find a fuck as he was molested by Hannibal‘s mouth. “Are you going to put me in a cage now?”

“I was considering it.” Hannibal mused. He refrained from tasting Will any further. He couldn’t have his pet dying from fright on him. “Do I need to? Will you try to escape?”

Will considered the idea of it for a moment. The odds of meeting anyone who would actually help him was slim to none. Not to mention all the other mundane things that had turned deadly due to his new size. For fuck’s sake, he could stumble across an anthill while outside, and end up being torn apart or poisoned by the normally harmless insects.

“No.” Will sighed. There was definitely a doll house of some sort in his future. “Please don’t put me in a cage. I won’t try to escape.”

“Good, but there will some changes.” Hannibal looked far too pleased with himself. He got up off the bed, taking Will with him to fish something out of a drawer. It turned out to be a clever little cuff made of gold that fit neatly around Will‘s ankle. Will was not amused to see that it had a fine length of chain attached to it as Hannibal pressed the metal as gently as he could closed. With no leverage or tool at his disposal, Will knew he would never be able to get it off on his own, the tooled gold sitting heavily on the joint. 

“I have to keep you safe.” Hannibal murmured with a slight smile, one that just hinted to teeth.

“Why? Why not change me back and kill me? Why keep me? Why bother at all with it?” Will muttered his questions. If Hannibal hadn’t been holding him up to eye level, he would have missed them, Will’s quick words were spoken so low. The profiler ended up answering his own question though, his empathy filling in the blanks to the Ripper’s profile in his head now that he had a name and face to put with it.

“Oh god, you were bored. I’m interesting like this, more so when I was normal.” Will looked at Hannibal with a wide complex look, feeling torn between betrayal and awe. “I’m just some plaything, a novelty toy that you can wind up. Watch me to see where I will go.”

“Don’t belittle yourself, Will. You have always been interesting. You’re just portable now.”

OoOoO  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments get dressed up like Princess Leia from Return of the Jedi, you know which costume I'm talking about. Don't act like you fucking don't. Your kudos makes a break for it only to be eaten by Hannibal.


	7. Pocket Hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POCKET HANNIBAL  
> This is a crack chapter in a crack story. So much crack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EAT UP YOU CUTE IDIOT BABY! MAMA'S FEEDING YOU CRACK TONIGHT! NOM NOM NOM

In reflection, Hannibal could admit that this entire ordeal was his own fault. He had become far too prideful for his own good. When things returned back to normal, he decided that he would treat this entirely as a leaning experience and a lesson in humility. Until then he would crouch in the nude underneath a particularly heavy piece of furniture, using his new diminuitive height to its fullest advantage.

“Doctor Lecter! Please come out!” Franklyn whined. The now tiny cannibal was pleased to note that his annoying patient was still bleeding from where Hannibal had bit him. In rememberance though, Hannibal made a point of spit again even if it meant defiling his own Persian rug with Franklin’s essence. He could still taste the obnoxious on his tongue. 

Yes, a lesson in humity, Hannibal mused as he glared like a slighted cat at the rotund man trying his damnedest to convince his psychiatrist to come out from hiding. Franklyn wasn’t having much success in that regard of course, the man offering up promises and apologies in the same breath like that was going to keep Hannibal from killing him later on. From someone who had never made the Rolodex of Death, Franklyn had managed to get himself placed on the dinner menu with whiplash speed. Though on second thought, the very idea of eating Franklyn made Hannibal nauseous, turning his usually iron cast stomach. He would have to make people sausage out of him or something for Will’s dogs. 

The gateway to all this had been a decanter, a lovely thing of shimmering beauty. Created entirely out of crystal by skilled hands, the container had caught up the light to shed rainbows about in such unique patterns that it had caught Hannibal’s discerning eye. A Malbec had been poured into it to open up, the vintage so dark and inky it looked like welled up blood. It was a travesty to the wine and its crafted vessel that it had tampered with. Whatever Franklyn had put in the Malbec, it had been fast acting and potent. 

The wine had scented sweet which was unusual but not off putting, Hannibal only taking a few appreciative sips before he found himself dropping both decanter and glass despite his best efforts, spilling wine and shattering crystal everywhere. 

During his transformation from his full height to that of six inches, Hannibal realized he must have blacked out at some point because when he woke up, he found himself buried in a pile of his own clothing. Though ruined now, his suit served an important purpose. It had kept him safe from drowing in all the spilled wine or being cut by any of the shattered crystal. As he climbed out to survey the ruin of wine and clothing, Hannibal had never been more thankful for wearing so many layers before, all the fine plaid wool, starched cotton, and knotted silk as island in the midst of loss. 

The fool of this folly soon revealed himself, Franklyn letting himself back into Hannibal’s office with barely a knock and wide shit eating grin on his face. Sitting on his pile of clothing, Hannibal had never wanted to kill anyone more in his life at that moment. He realized belated that he had unwittingly given Franklyn the means to this most unlikely of insults. Apparently, the habit of have glass of wine after his session with him had not gone unnoticed. Hannibal often leaving a bottle of something out to breathe, but never offered a glass to Franklin who always made a graceless point to comment about his selection in hopes of an invite to partake. 

Kneeling down, Franklyn had cooed at Hannibal, the tiny man resisting the urge to hiss and burrow underneath his clothing. Pudgy fingers that were too sweaty and warm caught Hannibal up, bringing him to eye level with Franklyn, the man looking unrepentantly ecstatic about what he had done. It was close enough for Franklyn to admire his work, but also near enough for Hannibal to attack. Perhaps his patient had a cure. Perhaps he didn’t, and Hannibal was cursed to stay in this state. Either way, he wasn’t going to run the risk of becoming this man’s pet to obtian it.

Jumping at Franklyn’s face like a rabid flying squirrel, Hannibal’s teeth were small but still very sharp as he latched on to a rounded cheek. That and he had never been shy about biting. The ferocity of his attack had shocked Franklyn enough to lose track of Hannibal, thankfully while he was still kneeling down over the man’s clothing. The tiny psychiatrist landed on the hill of wool to roll down it, hitting the ground running as soon as his feet hit hardwood. Dodging between shards of crystal, Hannibal barely made it in time to his desk, easily one of the heaviest and largest pieces of furniture in his office. 

Which was where he was still now, sitting dead center underneath his desk as far out of Franklyn’s reach as any intention to emerge from his hiding place was. Ignoring Franklyn with the added bonus of not having to appear like he gave a damn, Hannibal mulled over his situation. His prognosis was not good. As much as he would like to, Hannibal knew he couldn’t stay underneath his desk indefinitely, the chill on his bare skin starting to become uncomfortable. 

“Oh c’mon. Please come out.” Franklyn pleaded. “I just wanted to have dinner with you and for us spend some time together. I‘m sorry about the shrinking but it was the only way I could show you how good we would be together.”

Hannibal would happily rather chew glass than eat anything Franklyn had to offer. The sick image of a twisted take on a doll’s tea party came vividly to Hannibal’s mind, doing nothing for his appetite. 

“What are you doing?” were the spoken words that startled both men, someone joining them. Laughing nervously, Franklyn quickly got up off the floor. The voice was familiar, though Hannibal could tell who it was by the man’s footwear alone. He had never been more happy to see Will Graham in his life.

“I’m….ah…..looking after the office while Dr. Lecter is….um….out.” Franklyn babbled as Hannibal watched his patient nervously shuffle his feet. 

“From the floor?” Will didn’t sound amused or convinced. Unable to resist the urge, Hannibal creeped forward until he could peek out from under his desk. The view was unusual but gratifying. Will was his white knight dressed in flannel, khakis, and too much dog hair. 

“I dropped my pen.” Franklyn said defensively, his eyes flitting from Will to the desk. He paled when he glimpsed his desired secret watching the exchange. Much to Hannibal’s personal chagrin though, Will’s eyes were not flitting about like a drunken honeybee for once, the profiler‘s gaze steadfastly locked upon the man in front of him.

“You negotiate with your pen to come out by offering it dinner?” Will said dryly, making Hannibal wonder just how long Will had been out in the waiting room or how much he had heard. 

“Oh…um….” Franklyn fumbled, breaking out into a cold sweat.

“I would like you to tell me where Dr. Lecter is.” Will said in a cold tone, one that made Franklyn tremble and Hannibal shiver but for very different reasons. 

“Out……on the phone…doing…stuff.” Franklyn’s lies were losing life between their pathetic word spacing. A blank look was fixed on Will’s face, the profiler producing his own phone in hand, his fingers already hitting speed dial . Hannibal’s phone sang from its place on his deck, clearly in view to anyone who had eyes and an ouce of common sense. 

“I’m only going to ask this one last time. Where. Is. Doctor. Lecter.” Will stated, his tone stern and losing patience fast. 

“I can’t give that kind of information out to a patient.” Franklyn’s voice came out high and tight, obviously desperate now. 

“I’m not a patient, but I do happen to be a special agent for the FBI. This is my badge. This is my gun, and these are my handcuffs.” Will told Franklyn. Darting forward, he grabbed Franklyn, spinning him around to shove Franklyn up against the desk as the agent slapped said handcuffs over his wrists. Hannibal memorized the scene so that he could replay it later on at his leisure to pair Will‘s violence with a nice Cabernet. It only got better when Will took out his gun to press the firearm up to the side of Franklyn’s head.

“Why are Hannibal’s clothes on the floor?! Where is he?!” Will was yelling now, his normal stormy eyes a rather frigid shade of blue. As much as he would like to witness more violence enacted upon Franklin‘s person, Hannibal hoped that Will would refrian from killing Franklyn for now. He wanted to share in that delight with him. If he had known a threat to his safety, real or not, was all it took to have Will call him by his first name, Hannibal would have arranged an incident before this mess. 

“He’s cleaning up! Some wine spilled!” Franklyin sobbed, the man wretched in his desire to keep the agent from discovering what he had done. 

“Except Hannibal would never leave a someone who is so obviously a patient alone in his office, or leave his phone out unattended with that patient.” Will growled. “And ruined or not, he would never leave his suit piled up on the floor to soak up spilled wine so you are going to tell me where Hannibal is or…”

As much as Hannibal would have liked to hear the end of Will’s threat, Hannibal knew he desperately needed an ally. One who wouldn’t be tempted to dress him up in doll’s clothing, which he was sure Franklin had in great amount for him. A person he could rely on, but still control despite his miniscule size. Will could be all those things and so much more for him. 

“Will.” Hannibal called up as he emerged out from under his desk to be stared down at by a wide eyed Will.

“No!” Franklyn yelped to be pistol whipped back into place and submission by Will. His knees growing a touch weak by such casual violence, Hannibal resisted the urge to palm himself. Having an erection at the moment while completely naked along with Hannibal’s new height might be too much for Will to handle all at once. 

“Hanni…Doctor Lecter?” Will caught himself, correcting how he addressed Hannibal much to the man’s discontent, though Hannibal could see the advantage he had when Will reverted back to his title. Will’s deference to his title showed respect, which was something Hannibal could use as leverage to his advantage. 

“I am afraid so.” Hannibal yelled to be heard. “Would you be so kind to kneel down or pick me up so that we can speak comfortably?”

“Noooooo….” Franklyn moaned in despair, cut off abruptly as he was backhanded almost as an afterthought, Will too intent on Hannibal to care about the state of their company.

“Sit down and shut the hell up, or I’ll shoot you.” Will promised, motioning to the floor with the firearm. “Try not to bleed on the carpet. I’ve got enough of your mess to clean up already.”

When he was satisfied that Franklyn would behave, Will knelt down, placing his free hand palm up on the floor. Hannibal appreciated the polite gesture of it, the choice offered by Will instead of just being grabbed at. Climbing into Will’s hand to sit down gracefully in the center of Will palm, Hannibal held onto the profiler’s thumb as he was raise up to levely look into grey blue eyes that saw too much.

“Are you all right?” Will asked at a long moment. Hannibal let him look his fill, keeping still as he was studied.

“As well as one can be excepted given the unusual circumstance. My body seems to be working perfectly well despite the changes inflicted upon it.” Hannibal told him. He gripped Will’s thumb tighter as the profiler walked across the room to his clothing, Will searching through the articles of clothing for something. He found what he was looking for soon enough, Hannibal’s nudity covered up by his own scarlet and cobalt paisley handkerchief. 

“Is that better?” Will asked with only a hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

“Yes. Thank you.” Hannibal couldn’t help but smile. Will’s empathy would prove advantageous for his new needs. It was also important to learn just how much Will had noticed about him. 

“What did he do to you?” Will said, his anger clearly building as he turned to address Franklyn next. “What did you do to him?!”

“It just a little potion….” Franklyn muttered, studying the floor with sudden interest. “I didn’t even know if it would work…”

“A potion? Where the hell did you get a potion?” Will pressed. Hannibal was curious about that himself.

“From a gypsy woman or at least I think she was a gypsy woman. She wore a lot of bangles. Anyway, I traded her some of my best cheese for it.” Franklyn said to be met with looks ranging from mild horror to open disbelief. “It’s not permanent. Doctor Lecter will be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“And why did you feel the need to minuturaize Doctor Lecter?” Will snapped, seriously toying with the idea of shooting Franklyn for this indignity. He could read it well and clear coming off of Hannibal who was going to have to put his life on hold for now until he was back to full height. 

“I just wanted to spend time with him.” Franklyn pouted. “He never gives me a chance.”

“Franklyn, we have discussed this at length. You were a patient.” Hannibal said, choosing his words carefully. 

“Were?! I AM a patient of yours!” Franklyn picked up on it like Hannibal knew he would, looking very wounded. 

“I believe you will find yourself with a referral soon enough.” Hannibal told the tearing up man, loving how sweet the words tasted leaving his mouth. 

“But I’ve had nine already!” Franklyn wailed.

“Then one more won’t really matter.” Will snapped as he gently put Hannibal in his jacket’s pocket who was very displeased to find that he shared the space with forgotten doggie treats and some balls of furry lint. He watched in dissapointment as Will released Franklyn from the cuffs, the profiler shoving Hannibal’s former patient and future victim towards the private patient’s exit.

“If I see you around here again, I’ll shoot you.” Will told Franklyn before slamming the door in his face. Fishing Hannibal out of his pocket, the doctor found himself placed gently down in his chair so that Will could begin cleaning up the room.

“So I guess I’m taking you home…” Will started to say to feel Hannibal’s eyes upon his, the profiler halting himself. Even while in his current state, Hannibal‘s stare was a heavy thing. “What?”

“Most certainly not. In this condition, I am extremely vulnerable. I do not wish to be around your dogs, and your house in Wolf Trap is hardly ideal for the subterfuge we will have to maintain for the few days I‘m indisposed.” Hannibal reasoned out for Will. After being in Will’s pocket and sitting with its contents, he was most certainly not going to step foot or be more accurately, carried in to that sort of mess. 

“Then what do you suggest?” Will asked, sounding slightly miffed. 

“That we frabricate that we are lovers taking a few days off to enjoy each other’s company.” Hannibal intoned. It was a flawless idea.

“W-What?!“ Will sputtered. How did things in his life escalate so quickly beyond his control? “Why don’t we just say you’re sick and I’m taking care of you instead?”

“I like my version better.”

OoOoO  
More pocket Will to come.....  
...or cum....  
Tee Hee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments have a pity party with Franklin about the referral. Your Kudos eat the stale doggie biscuits in Will's pockets.


	8. tiny story is tiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chesapeake Ripper strikes again.....and he has a tiny man with him?  
> Story written from OC's POV.  
> you have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny story is tiny, like Will.

Bob Redliud woke up in a fog, blinking his eyes as he tried to work the cottony feel out of his mouth. The ceiling he was staring at was familiar, Bob recognizing it as his own. The heavy oak dining room table he was lying on top of was just as known, though Bob couldn’t remember ever wanting to take a nap on it before. 

This had to be a nap after all. Bob told himself that this was some sort of dream or something because he didn’t ever sleep out in the kitchen. He had no idea what the man in the weird plastic body suit was meant to represent in his psyche about him though. Bob decided that he would have to remember this, and look it up in a dream dictionary when he woke up. 

While he was at it, Bob made a mental note to look up ‘tiny men’ as well because there was one sitting on his naked chest, just sitting there, staring at him with sad blue eyes and a furrowed brow. It was starting to freak him more the fuck out than the plastic suit guy who seemed to be neatly laying out equipment of some kind at the end of his dining room table. 

His eyes wouldn’t focus right though, vision fading in and out strangely. Had he been drinking? Bob didn’t remember pouring himself a cold one. And why was that creepy fucking little man still staring at him? 

Bob opened his mouth to tell the little man to fuck off, but only slurred sounds came out, his throat feeling all numb and funny like he had swallowed a shit load of Novocain while at the dentist.

“That is unfortunate….you being awake and all. He’s about to begin.” the little man said, sounding sad for some reason. He was dressed well for a pixie, the tiny dark haired man immaculate in a tiny three piece suit, blue and pinstriped. Bob was a little pissed at his subconscious for dressing up some fairy better than it did him in real life or dreams. From what Bob could tell, he was naked. He tried lifting his head but everything felt too heavy, none of his muscles responding to his commands as they should. 

Which was a shame really because plastic wrap guy decided at that moment to hold down Bob’s arm and drive nails into it through his wrists. The 60d common nails that were used to secure his arms and then his ankles were six inches long and driven in at angles to better keep Bob still and fixated to the table. He could have told plastic guy he didn’t need to do that, that he knew these nails well and that they used to pole line hardware to wooden telephone poles. Bob used them everyday. He just never thought he would have been used on him. 

It took that pain and shock to sharpen Bob’s dull senses, finally recognizing plastic guy to an extent. Not too long ago, Bob had been working in an upscale part of Baltimore‘s suburbs, the streets there filled with fancy houses and carefully tended yard work. Bob had been up in the lines when he had dropped some nails, his mistake falling into the street below. Just his crappy luck a car came by soon afterward, blowing out a tire after picking one of Bob’s nails in its tread. The owner of the unfortunate black Bentley pulled over immediately. It didn’t take much to put two and two together to figure out that the four involved Bob not giving a fuck enough to come down and pick up his nails. 

The Bentley guy had even gone to the extent of walking his happy ass over to Bob to bitch at him. Bob hadn’t given him the chance, telling the guy to fuck off. Bentley guy was dressed in a suit and drove an expensive car. As far as Bob had been concerned, if anyone could afford a blown tire it was that rich prick. Some people just had shitty luck. Instead of bitching back though, the Bentley guy had simply taken down the company’s information. After a quick call to AAA, the Bentley guy left without another word to Bob.

“It was your badge number. It had your name on it.” the tiny man answered the question that Bob didn’t even know he had wanted or needed to ask. It was hard to focus on anything else but the pain and the terrible plastic man’s face. It was so fucking calm, gentle even while the sadist drove more nails into him, fixing Bob firmly to his own dining room table. 

“Why do you have pliers?” was what Bob didn’t want to hear the pixie say, the tiny man turning around to watch what plastic guy was doing now. His murderer responded in a hushed accented tone, the words lost in translation somewhere in the rush of endorphins, lingering sedatives, and adrenaline that was making Bob’s head pound. “I don’t care if it is for art. That’s messed up.”

Bob tried to struggle, crying out muffled unintelligent words in the process. Belated, he realized that he was just tearing his own flesh apart and inflicting more pain on himself.

“I know you have to kill him now. I’m just pointing out that you’re getting really thin skinned is all. Everyone has a bad day.” the tiny man sighed heavily, plopping down on Bob’s heaving chest which was rolling like an ocean trying to take in air to push the pain out. “Wow, did you screw up. Just so you know, yes, you’re going to die. Quite horribly in fact.”

Plastic guy was back in view now with the mentioned pliers in hands. Bob didn’t want to think about what and where the guy was going to use them on. The tiny fairy must have been thinking along those same lines.

“Do I have to watch?” the tiny man asked, sounding reproachful about it like it were a chore instead of torture. The plastic man pressed a kiss to the top of the tiny man’s head in answer. The pixie sighed again, turning around to watch as Bob’s fingernails were pulled out, one by one as the dream became terror.

OoOoO  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Your comments hand Hannibal the pliers. Your kudos hang out with Will on the victim's chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Your pocket sized comments sit on the bed and contemplate their tiny nudity. Your pocket sized kudos go back to sleep cause fuck that shit.


End file.
